POETRY. STYRIAN EVENING-HYMN TO THE VIRGIN. From "A Tour in Germany and some of the Southern Provinces of the FADING, still fading, the last beam is shining; Safety and innocence fly with the light, Temptation and danger walk forth with the night; Ave Maria! hear when we call, Mother of him, who is brother of all: Feeble and failing, we trust in thy might; In doubting and darkness, thy love be our light; HOPE AND MEMORY. From Joanna Baillie's Collection of Poems. HOPE. NAY, sister, what hast thou to boast Whose happiest thought is but the ghost Then on delight for ever fled The likeness makes the sorrow true. MEMORY. And what art thou, vain Hope? a cheat: Soon as the hop'd-for thing appears, And is no more the fancied good. That which they loathe, despise, detest. True, sister, true! in every age Emmas and Lauras at thy shrine Attend, and deem thy answers true, And, calling Hope a power divine, Their Corydons and Damons view. And girls at school and boys at taw, Seduced by thy delusive skill, Think life is love, and love is law, And they may choose just whom they will. HOPE. Say is not mine the early hold On man whose heart I make my own And, long e'er thy dull tale be told, And slowly gain thy heavy store, My worlds and wonders to explore. Thou lend'st him help, to read, to spell, To win a throne, to wed a queen. MEMORY. True, to thy fairy world he goes, When truth is heard and only truth? On me the quiet few rely, For Memory's store is certain gain; For aid to thee the wretched fly, The poor resource of grief and pain, My friends like lawful traders deal. With just accounts, with real views; But thine as losing gamesters feel, i Who stake the more the more they lose. HOPE. And they are right, for thus employ'd And 'tis a cheerful game they play. What hours for care or grief remain. You say the rash, the young, the bold, Are mine, and mine they are, 'tis true; But, sister, art thou sure the old And grave are not my subjects too? Struck by the palsy's powerful blow, The sage physician feels my aid Most when he knows not what to do: I whisper then, "Be not afraid, "For I inspire thy patient too." MEMORY. Vain of thy victories, thus misled Which wretches long and die to hear. A poet once the tribe are thine, But yet I would my counsel give, And said, ""Tis naught! the work decline: Deeply he sighed, and thou wert by, HOPE. And how, I pray, can this be wrong? That shall the wondering world delight. MEMORY. Yes, thou hast slumbers light and vain, And mayst, I grant, a poet boast; I cannot show so large a train, HOPE. Still, I'm the nurse of young desire, I am the good that all require In passing through a world like this. MEMORY. Say, rather, thou'rt the glow-worm light, HOPE. Alas! but this will never end, REASON. Obedient to your wish am I, And thus my sentiments disclose; Together you must live and die, Together must be friends or foes. For what is Hope, if Memory gives And spends her strength in idle flight. And what from Memory's stores can rise Unless upon that store relies The Hope that heavenward wings her way. Be friends, and both to man be true; For Memory greatest good will do As Hope's director, strength, and guide. So shall ye both to mortals bring |